The sky was a bloody crimson that morning, slashes of gold and fiery orange cascading out over the few low-hanging clouds. With the sun at the far end of the manor, however, the building threw long shadows over the frozen grass, and Natalie sank into them as she began to make her way toward the old crypt.
The trip felt much too short, ending well before Alex felt he had gotten the chance to steady himself for what was to come. But there was no other way. Natalie halted abruptly, Alex forced to stop rather suddenly to avoid running face-first into her. She held up a cautioning hand, crouching low, and Alex mimicked the movement, peering around for a better look at what she was seeing.
The little graveyard was just as he remembered it. The smooth, weathered headstones were just visible amid the shadows of the manor, standing before the gaping maw of the entrance to the catacombs below. Alex was about to ask Natalie why she had stopped when he noticed something. A shadow, kneeling before one of the graves. He caught the glitter of pale white skin, and felt his whole body go cold.
The Head rose, his long robe tumbling about him like a storm cloud, and they immediately dropped to the ground, flattening themselves and exchanging quick, nervous looks. The two lay still, praying that their cloaks would keep them hidden in the dark. The Head stood in front of the graves for a long moment, looking out toward the main walls, his hands moving to clasp at his back. He let out a long sigh that was clearly audible over the whistling of the morning wind.
Then, with a twist of his cloak, he was gone.
Natalie and Alex stared at the empty air, stunned.
“Invisibility?” Natalie said in a hushed voice.
Alex shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“It does not make sense,” Natalie said confusedly. “Magic follows rules. It is like sculpting. How can you sculpt yourself out of existence?”
Alex did not know what to think, but it certainly seemed like the Head used magic differently from other people. He rose to his feet, approaching the stand of stones to see what the man had been looking at. Natalie, uncertain, followed in his wake.
“Why was he here?” she asked, moving up alongside Alex as it became clear that the Head was no longer present.
Alex was looking down at the grave that the Head had been kneeling in front of. Its surface was blank; it looked no different from any of the other graves in the little stand of stones. And yet, the Head had chosen this place to kneel.
“I don’t know,” he said, frowning at it in contemplation.
Natalie stared down at the stone for a time, her brow twisting in puzzlement. Then, she shook her head.
“We do not have time for this,” she said urgently.
As one, they turned to look at the gaping hole in the side of the manor. Even from where they stood, Alex could see the golden line shimmering in the dark; as they approached, it only grew brighter. It seemed dazzling, powerful, full of light and energy, and Alex drew in a long, steadying breath as he looked at it.
“You ready?” Natalie asked eventually.
Alex swallowed, then nodded. If all went to plan, this time he would not end up on the ground with ice and snow spewing from him. He held out his hand, twisting it, emptying his mind. There was a rush, a surge of cold down his arm, and then a long, thin blade slipped from his hand, wobbling and distorting in the space in front of him. So far so good. Carefully, straining to hold the weapon in place, he reached out and drew a quick slash over the golden line.
The second his blade touched the line, Alex knew something was wrong. The line fizzed and hissed, and then in a burst of cold it erupted into icy shards. He staggered back, but saw with horror that the ice was whipping toward him, slipping up through the void toward his fingertips. A slicing blade of frost crested from the tip, and Alex saw, as if in slow motion, the thing whipping toward his neck.
Natalie’s hand crashed into the ice in a blaze of fiery sparks. The shard broke apart, the blade of ice spinning to shatter against the wall as other such blades speared into the veil of flame that Natalie had cast in front of them, then melted as they succumbed. She was panting, pale, her eyes wide as she surveyed the scene in front of them.
Alex looked aghast at the jagged hooks and blades of ice that curled up from the floor. His hand shook, and the blade of anti-magic he held dissolved.
“Security seems to have been improved,” he said, more nonchalantly than he felt.
“It chased you,” Natalie replied, her face worried. “How could it do that? Your anti-magic, should it not…?”
Alex looked down at his shaking hand. The magic here hadn’t just been effective against him—it had been designed to kill him. Specifically him. He turned, staring toward the distant lake where the lords of Spellshadow Manor had been dumping Spellbreaker bodies for centuries. He felt a surge of sorrow for his dead people, murdered and unceremoniously disposed of, and fervently hoped he would not join them.
“Let’s just go,” he said softly.
Natalie took a minute to burn the ice from their path, working with a precision and quickness that belied her weakened state, and Alex took point as they descended into the depths.
The strength of the golden line wasn’t the only thing that had changed since their first visit. First and foremost, there was the intense cold. It grew as they descended, reaching a pitch where Alex could feel his bones stiffening and creaking as he walked. It was uncomfortable, but not entirely surprising. He looked over at Natalie, but she seemed unaffected.
“Magic,” he muttered. “Strong, too.”
Natalie looked over at him, then nodded.
Next, there was the ivy. The plant, previously absent from the underground resting place of the lords of Spellshadow, now hung heavy on every wall. It lay still, for the moment, but there was something predatory about it. Like it was lying in wait somehow, attentive to their progress.
“Don’t touch the ivy,” Alex said, finding his voice hushed to a whisper.
“Was not planning on it,” murmured Natalie, giving it a wary look.
As they drew past the tall statues of the old lords, Alex thought they looked somehow more decayed. The statue of Gifford White, previously laced in ice that looked like lightning, now dripped with loose-flowing water, his outstretched hand looking more placating than powerful, his eyes forlorn. The skull on the plinth before him was browning, missing teeth.
Looking around, Alex saw that all the statues were in a similar state. The gemstones had fallen from the eye sockets of the lords, giving them hollow, endless stares. Alex swallowed hard as they made their way toward the end of the hall. He just had to keep moving, he told himself, trying not to look at where gray ivy had wrapped itself around a female statue’s neck like a noose.
All the same, when he saw Finder’s statue, he stopped, and could not tear his eyes from it.
The tall statue’s shoulders had hunched, his muscles atrophied down to nothing more than spindly limbs under a too-large hood. Bony fingers stretched from under a cloak of marble, his golden eyes reduced to burnished holes in the shadows of his garment.
Under him, upon his plinth, sat the skull, with the hole carved into the forehead that looked like nothing so much as a third eye.
Alex felt another wave of magical energy spill over him, shivering against it.
“There it is,” Natalie said, putting an unconscious hand on Alex’s shoulder.
Alex nodded, stepping forward. He could feel the raw magical power of the skull as he reached out, his fingers slowly wreathing themselves in white frost as they inched closer and closer to the source of Finder of Spellshadow. Even through the cold, he could feel the strength of the magic. It burned a hole in his defenses, and through it he could feel…something.
The feeling cut off when Natalie let out a scream.
Alex spun, his heart in his throat, and there he was.
Malachi Grey stood between the two of them, one hand outstretched toward Natalie, who was struggling, her hands scrabbling at gray-gold line
s of ghostly magic wrapping around her. She gave Alex a desperate look, her fingers twitching in feeble attempts at making magical signs as Malachi twisted his power tighter.
Alex acted on instinct born of weeks of training with Aamir in the cellar. Stepping forward, he cleared his mind, a swirling hole of anti-magic forming in his palm as he thrust it toward the ghost.
A rumble ran through the room, and Malachi let out a cry of pain as he spun, the ghostly coils around Natalie coming undone in an instant, his empty eyes searching for his new assailant. He looked down, and his eyes lingered on the icy water dripping off him like blood to pool on the floor.
“Spellbreaker,” he whispered, the word like a holy oath. “So you’re really here.”
Alex skipped back a step, feeling the cold emanations of the source at his back. With his current skill, he wouldn’t be able to exorcise a ghost, but Natalie had fallen to her knees, one hand at her throat as she sucked in hungry, frantic breaths.
He had to buy her time.
Finder rolled forward in a powerful movement, his hand coming up in a sign that Alex didn’t recognize. With a boom like thunder, a wave of force that covered the width of the crypt rolled toward Alex. He held up a hand, expecting to feel the familiar wash of cold, but instead he found himself slammed to the ground, sprawling head over heels across the floor.
“I may not be able to see you,” Finder said, “but my family has been killing your kind for longer than you could ever know. If you wish to destroy me, you’ll need to work at it, child.”
Destroy me.
Alex scrambled to his feet and bolted for the skull atop Finder’s altar. A second blast nearly knocked him back to the ground, but he managed to keep his feet, his hand outstretched. He felt his fingers plunging through the cold energies of the source, then closing around yellowing, strangely soft bone.
Magic erupted into Alex’s mind, and he let out a shout as light poured into him. He could feel himself lifting, being thrown like a ragdoll as time and space themselves came undone.
“My lord.”
Alex blinked the sparks from his eyes, bringing his vision into focus. He was lying on the lawn of Spellshadow Manor, before the great gates. Something had changed, though.
There was no ivy.
The midday sun hung lazily in a blue sky, its light falling over beautifully tended gardens, lined with statues of proud, powerful wizards. On the main path that led to the door, two men stood facing one another.
Alex knew Finder at once, although this version of the man better reflected the statue in the crypts below Spellshadow. He had broad shoulders, his hood thrown back to reveal a square jaw and a thin bristle of black beard beneath stern, commanding eyes.
The other figure was shorter, and it took Alex a moment to recognize the dark robe, the long fingers and pale skin. To say that the Head looked younger would have been a gross understatement. He stood straight-backed, his legs no longer slouched into an elder’s limp. His hands at his sides were still pale and spindly, but strong with youth.
“I am sorry I did not invite you sooner,” Finder said.
The Head shook his head.
“Many did not invite me at all, Lord Grey.”
Malachi looked about the grounds, his eyes distant. He made several uncertain movements of his hands, as if he hoped to pull the right words out of the air, but when that seemed to fail, he spoke anyway.
“I saw Proignius devoured,” he said. “I had never thought…”
The Head let out a low breath, and Alex thought he could see the man’s features twisting sadly.
“Yes,” he said. “I think we had all thought the old beast immortal.”
A silence hung over the two men. The Head watched Malachi in anticipation, his stance never wavering.
Malachi, on the other hand, was shifting from foot to foot, his breathing uneven, his hands shaking.
“I’m sure you know of my talent,” he said eventually.
The Head nodded. “They call you ‘Finder.’ They say you can locate any with magical talent, no matter how they try to hide.”
Malachi nodded, licking his lips.
“I believe I can, my lord.”
“And you would do that for me? Even knowing what would happen to them?”
Malachi had grown pale, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets.
“I would,” he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.
The Head nodded, and held out a hand, palm up. Malachi, however, did not take it. He looked at it with a detached, somber air, bringing up a hand to run through his dark curls.
“This is the only way to stop it, isn’t it?” he said.
The Head nodded.
Malachi shuffled from foot to foot, staring around at the high walls of Spellshadow Manor, at the elegant statues and beautiful gardens. He drew in a shaking breath.
“If I hadn’t invited you here,” he said, “you would have come anyway.”
There was certainty in his voice. Dread mixed with respect that hung on the air, sure as a promise. The Head did not move, simply continued to hold out his hand.
“You came for all of them,” Malachi said.
Finally, at long last, the Head spoke again.
“What I offer is not a choice,” he said, his voice coming out as a growl. “It is an inevitability. It is the fate that will one day come for all who bear magic in their veins.”
Malachi Grey, Finder of Spellshadow Manor, nodded. He reached out, his hand hovering over the Head’s.
“How did it come to this?” he asked.
The Head considered the question. A wind whipped at his cloak, sending it spinning back from his black trousers, his eyes gleaming under the hood.
“We walk in dreams, friend,” he said eventually. “It was only a matter of time before a nightmare followed us back.”
With a sharp motion, he brought his hand up against Finder’s. Their palms met, and it was as though a bomb detonated from the spot. The shockwave tore across the grounds, throwing trees to the dirt, sending sprays of gray erupting into the air. Statues sundered in place, chunks of stone crashing down to the ground, and at the center of it all stood the two men.
Alex flinched away from the explosion, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew now that he was in a memory, in the past, but fear struck through him all the same.
Malachi’s eyes were wet with tears, but he did not run. He stood, resolute, as wisps of magic ran up and down his body, then whirled into his skin, his eyes, his mouth. His head tipped back, and silver light poured from him as he let out a silent howl.
Alex watched in a mix or horror and awe as what made up the man slowly frayed away, the flesh and clothes disintegrating into ash, leaving nothing but a silvery, indistinct form that stood before the Head.
Bonds of red lightning crackled around the outline as bones began to fall from the whirling ash and clatter to the gravel. The Head stared into the vortex of power, then extended his other hand, his fingers pushing their way through the dust and debris. His hood flew back, revealing a young man with white hair and eyes the color of a sea at storm. His teeth were bared, his fingers moving in gestures so infinitely complex that Alex couldn’t even begin to guess at their meaning.
With a noise like a massive blanket falling over the earth, the storm halted. Dust, trees, and pieces of statues fell to the ground, and the Head was left standing in a desolate field. In his hand was a skull, his thumb pushed through a hole just between the eyes.
The world came back to Alex in a whirl of light and shadows, and he staggered, gasping as he tried to regain his bearings. In one frost-wreathed hand he held a skull with three holes where the eyes should have been, and in front of him stood a man.
Finder drew back his hood to reveal a gaunt mask of what had been. His black curls fell in lank waves over hollow cheeks, his handsomely square jaw now knobby and worn. He stood there, staring at his own skull in Alex’s hand.
“I am Malachi Grey of Spellshadow Manor
,” he said, and his voice was the rasp of shovels turning grave dirt. “I exist to serve the Head of Spellshadow. I find those with magic, and I bring them to this place.”
Alex was shivering. Behind the figure, he saw Natalie regaining her feet, her hands beginning to weave a delicate, silver web of magic onto the ground around her.
“Why?” Alex asked. “Why do you bring them here?”
Finder rocked from foot to foot, his face sad, his expression lost.
“I am Malachi Grey of Spellshadow Manor,” he said, ghostly magic flooding the air around him. The gray ivy shuddered, lifting off the surrounding statues to dance in the air. “I exist to serve the Head of Spellshadow. I find those with magic, and I bring them to this place.”
Finder reached out, ghostly light pouring from his hands to wash over Alex in waves. Alex gritted his teeth, raising one hand against the magic, and prepared himself to fight.
Chapter 38
While Finder couldn’t see Alex, he had no difficulty seeing the skull frozen to Alex’s left hand. Clearly using the yellowing bone as a reference, the ghost swept forward, his hands slashing and whirling in the air. Alex tried to keep up, but the master wizard’s motions were too quick, his magic too powerful, and the young man felt the air burst from his lungs as he was smashed against the back wall. Loops of ivy draped over him and immediately began coiling about him, attempting to hold him in place. He thrashed frantically, trying to break away, his eyes on the ghost of Malachi Grey.
“I am Malachi Grey of Spellshadow Manor,” the ghost roared over the howl of his own magic, the room shuddering with power, cracks spreading over the statues.
Alex managed to struggle free of the ivy, shoving himself away from the wall and back to his feet, darting to one side as the ghost leapt through the air, planting a fist into the earth where Alex had been a moment before and splitting the marble open. Steam rose from the chasm as the ghost’s eyes came around, magic whipping the air as he rallied for another attack.
A little way back down the hall, Natalie continued to weave her spell. An arcane circle of light gathered around her, glowing shards of silvery magic rising up around her like petals, her face lined with sweat. Alex could see the red lines of the curse throttling her, but Natalie forced her way through, her teeth gritted as she moved her hands in soft, fluid motions.